


Furry Caterpillars of Doom (Or, Derek's Eyebrows)

by Coquette



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: But sucks at listening, Crack, Derek's Eyebrows, Derek's Eyebrows are totally a Super-power, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, I actually prefer DC over Marvel, M/M, Misplaced Marvel Quotes, Scott is a Good Friend, Stiles being an idiot, derek lurks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 16:22:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2435255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coquette/pseuds/Coquette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles decides to advertise a few conspiracy theories on a werewolf's hair growth patterns.</p><p>Said werewolf is a creeper who likes lurking in the general vicinity of his unfortunate self.</p><p>Could also be called, a Tremendously Stupid Idea had an Extremely (Un)predictable Conclusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Furry Caterpillars of Doom (Or, Derek's Eyebrows)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saucery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/gifts).



"I swear, Scott," Stiles mumbles through an extra-large mouthful of Cheetos, jerking his arms wildly around to encompass the seriousness of his speech. "Those things are weapons! Lethal weapons... of doom!" He exaggerates the 'ooom' to give it that much more of a dire theatrical effect. Not that he has that much of an audience to appreciate his more artistic inclinations, Scott being the only one listening.

Scott spares a dubious look in his direction then goes back to dreamily ogling the back of Allison's hair. Or, not listening. Stiles is eighty five percent sure he's composing odes to her curls in his head. Which, like, is so high on the scale of pathetic that even Stiles who well knows each and exact mark on that particular- well, not that Stiles doesn't like Allison's hair or that, you know, would claim it was anything but pretty, but seriously?

"Scott," he whines, kicking his chair. "Dude, like, pay attention! This could very well have a Serious Impact on our future. You know, which we'd like to spend alive and unharmed, not dead and or dying as the result of immense forces being directed at us with no escape in sight?"

That gets Scott to spare actually five seconds into giving him a flat and un-amused patented what-the-hell-Stiles Stare that Stiles is perfectly familiar with.

Ohoh. Well. If that's how it's going to be.

Stiles huffs and folds his arms dramatically. "If you'd listened to me for a second, you'd know I was onto something," he says portentously.

"Oh I heard you the first time," Scott says, hair flopping into his eyes as he moves to tracks Allison bending to rummage around in her knapsack with hawk-like attention. It's creepy how Scott can be creepy when anyone who so much as knows him would laugh themselves into hysterics at Scott and creepy in the same sentence. "You were going on and on about how much you're into Derek's eyebrows."

Then Scott freezes.

Stiles freezes too.

There is a whole moment dedicated to acknowledging the frozen Arctic temperature that has befallen them which as a good bro Stiles suffers through manfully before he shoots a reproving stare at Scott. He may have best-friend privilages, but those do not extend to making fun of Stiles' woefully impressive lack of lovelife.

"Scott my man, that was uncalled for," he say mildly enough, and stuffs another handful of Cheetos into his mouth. "Now, if you're ready to actually pay attention..." he lets it trail off, with one eyebrow raised meaningfully.

"Right," Scott sighs, and finally abandons his Allison-dar with one last sad puppy-like look in her direction. Stiles feels like the meanest meanie to ever kick a puppy and then kick it again for nothing more relative than shits and giggles but then he reasons that its due payback for the lack of brain-to-mouth filter Scott has going sometimes. All the time. In every karmic life. The universe itself knows how astronomically impossible it is for Scott to-

Whoops. Ok. Maybe he should up his prescription. But he'd anyways like it taken down for posterity's sake that in no universe is Derek my-cousin-Miguel Hale and Stiles Stilinksi ever gonna-

"You were saying?" Scott prods helpfully.

Stiles exhales with gusto, derailed from his previous train of thought. "Yes. Scott. Derek. Derek's eyebrows, in fact. The rabid caterpillars that decided to crawl onto his face and decided it was enough of a giant leap for them to remain there forever, Houston, here we are all go." He makes a dramatic hand-wave that end up spilling half his Cheetos on the floor. Oops.

Scott looks stricken. "Ah-huh," he says, looking like his teeth are being pulled out all at the same time and he'd rather be anywhere than there even if Allison were to suddenly smile in his direction. But Stiles knows Scott's a loyal puppy. Attaboy.

Stiles grins, brain going a mile a minute. "I'm like half sure that Derek only knows to emote through them. Like, he has a default don't mess with me flat caterpillar glare and then the one where they're all scrunched up together like its no holds barred mating season and that's when you should be running."

He hmms thoughtfully, ignoring Scott's vaguely scandalized and horrified expression. "Then there's also his furry little problem (Scott makes a choked off noise and hastily stuffs his mouth with a stolen handful of Stiles' cheetos) when you really can't see them but it doesn't matter. Either way, you're dead."

"Dead?" Scott ventures meekly.

Stiles shakes his head sadly. "They never see it coming."

"See what coming?" Scott looks like he really doesn't want to know but has to ask anyway. Sort of like a train wreck waiting to happen. Story of his life.

"Derek's eyebrows. It's like I said. Weapons of mass destruction. You gotta know how to read'em if you want a chance of surviving the apocalypse."

By now, Scott looks like he's regretting ever knowing or befriending Stiles.

"It's like he can glare people into submission just using those furry critters. I wonder if its the result of some kind of genetic experiment and Dr. X will show up soon. It's like they're a super-power all on their own!"

Scott is mouthing no at him frantically and waving his arms like a crazy person. Regardless, Stiles plows on.

"The great big furry caterpillars of doom. That could be a thing. They could be like the foundation for the transition into wolf. Like, when he puts them together into a frown, boom, instant transformation! Maybe they're a catalyst." Stiles is running on pure caffeine and a little too little Adderall at the moment, so sue him for his wonderfully radioactive imagination.

By now, Scott is miming a hand-slash across his neck and making gagging noises. Stiles just rolls with it.

"Oh god Scott, what if Magneto decides to recruit him for his gang of super-villain badasses. Or Ras Al Ghul decides to use him to destroy the seedy underbelly of supernatural Beacon Hills? What if Derek agrees given his stunted emotional man-pain and forever alone cougar bit jailbait status? What if the caterpillars crawl off his face after deciding they want to live hard and fast and hit up a mama caterpillar and have cute little furry caterpillar babies of doom who want to take over the world and-"

Scott slaps a hand over his mouth. "Stiles," he hisses, eyes panicky. "Derek's outside. In the parking lot. For the last few minutes."

Stiles blinks and removes Scott's cheesy hand from his face.

"Oh," he says calmly. "You couldn't have told me that a bit earlier maybe? I'm thinking before I signed my own death warrant?" He idly starts counting down the last seconds of his life as a man among the living. It had beena wild, wild life. Oh if only, he'd gotten someone to punch his V-card, he'd go down, ship sinking but flags hoisted high.

Scott shrugs sheepishly. "Not good with the whole wolf thing, man." He taps his nose significantly and tries to look meaningful. It just comes off as constipated. 

"Right." Stiles swallows. "Let's just agree that I'm a dead man walking."

Scott gives him a bro-fist of commiseration and nods. Traitor! How dare he leave Stiles to venture into the wolves den alone, literally?

Stiles gets up. "I uh, I'm just gonna-" he cuts off in a strangled whimper and looks at the window which he'd been avoiding and spots twin burning spots of iridescent blue glaring at him. The dark shape that is Derek crooks a finger at him, turns around and stalks into the trees. Oh. Oh joy. He's gonna be ripped in two and fed to Derek's pet betas for a snack.

Scott thumps him on the back. "If it helps, I think you were on the right track with all that-" he waggles his eyebrows and again manages to look like he has a serious stomach problem.

Even in the over-loud classroom, Stiles hears his phone begin to ring. **_Werewolves of London_** starts to ring out boldly. Besides him, Scott tries not to laugh. He was wrong. Scott is like the worst puppy ever.

He picks it right up.

"Hello, Derek!" He says in an overly enthusiastic and bright tone. "It's a happy, wonderful day, if I do say so myself, the serenity of which is not to be broken by anything so dark as horrifying the local bystanders by killing the poor defenseless human-"

"Outside, now." The line disconnects.

Stiles looks at his phone. "Well, Scott," he says dully. "It was good knowing you."

Scott shoves his hands in his pockets guiltily. "I don't think Derek would do anything too permanent," he offers hopefully.

Which, no- Stiles levels a flat stare at his best friend. "I am in awe of your sympathizing skills, Scott. They must just love you at the hospital."

He puts his nose up into the air and marches out the door, head held high. He'd have made a graceful swanly exit too, if it weren't for that pesky junior and his bookbag.

Pride somewhat insulted, Stiles maybe skulks around shadily for a few seconds before high-tailing it to the woods. When Derek calls, you do not say no. Unless you want to be dog chow. Which you don't. Rhetorical, really. Who wants to be snapped up by a pair of sharp jaws boasting innumerable sharp pointy bits called teeth and devoured down to the pits of hell? Not Stiles, nosiree. He likes himself good and healthy pink-white and alive.

He lets out a totally manly noise of surprise when out of nowhere, hands grip the neck of his jacket and he gets slammed up presumably against the nearest tree. The predictability nearly kills him.

"Don't kill me," he splutters. "I swear, I didn't mean it! Well, only half of it. I'm pretty sure you don't know how to communicate like real people do, but the rest of it was a lie! All lies! Blame it on my love of TV shows that concoct strange and unbelievable tales to keep people out of prison while making it sound logical cause it could be true and your eyebrows are really thick and awesome for brooding and glaring and mmnf mnnph-"

Stiles tries to talk around the hand covering his mouth. Is this the part where the captor gets fed up with the victim's sass and finally puts a butcher's knife through their gut while they scream in pain and die a slow terrible death? He doesn't want to die! No! He's too young! And beautiful! And he's only on the fourth year of his carefully drawn and marked out ten year plan to woo the terrifying goddess of his dreams, Lydia and-

"You watch Boston Legal?" Derek levels a half-incredulous glare at him.

Stiles is so shocked at that that he forgets to struggle. Derek has just made a modern day reference. Derek who glares at cellphones like they're the bane of his existence and refuses to own a TV. Derek who would rather eat cold turkey than get a microwave. Derek who-

Well, the point's gotten across right?

"Umm," he manages eloquently from behind Derek's palm.

Derek huffs a snort and releases him.

There is an awkward moment of silence that Stiles being the awesome human he is, totally does not hyper-ventilate through.

Derek stares at him from the corner of his eye and shoves his hands into his pockets. "I'm more of a DC fan, actually," he mutters casually.

Stiles does the fish-out-of-fish-bowl impersonation at him. Because. How is this- 

Who is this- 

How is this even his life, where Derek McBrooderson Hale is making pop-culture references at him without a trace of snark -ok, so maybe a little glaring going on there with the broody eyebrows and all- but the hell and how is this even happening like right now and if they stole Derek and replaced him with a pod-person Stiles is so removing his subscription to all things supernatural because while the REAL Derek was kind of a douchebag he was also really all kinds of familiar and didn't throw Stiles carefully compartmentalized world out of whack with just a single sentence or two-

Derek is real-person talking to him. Not trying to kill him with his teeth! 

"Huh," he manages after a sentence where Derek studiously ignores him and kind of stares at the ground a lot, looking a bit lost and a bit grumpy with the tips of his ears all pink like he didn't mean to say what he did and it came out without his permission. Which Stiles can totally relate to, ADHD angsty teenage and all.

Derek looks up then, ready to scowl and probably do all sorts of normal-Derek-like things but Stiles beats him to the quick.

"Of course you'd side with DC." He snorts and waves a sarcastic hand. "Derek, my friend, it's time you and I had a little chat about the really, really important things in life. Marvel over DC and why Boston Legal trumps Awkward in drama anyday."

Derek's mouth quirks. "You watch Awkward?"

Stiles squawks, realizing what he'd unintentionally admitted to. "No! Wait! That is-"

But Derek's fighting a grimace like expression and Stiles realizes with more than a little bit of awe that the Derek Hale is actually trying and failing spectacularly badly to not crack the faintest ever smile to grace mankind. Wolf-kind.

"Oh," he breathes, and then jauntily flings an arm over Derek's taller form. "This, my friend, is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Derek eyes his arm like it's the carrier of a particularly nasty and fast-spreading virus which is ridiculous, really, because as if werewolves can actually catch anything.

"Based on the mutual love of comics and fast acerbic wit delivered with smart comebacks and dry incredulity," Stiles quickly tacks on as he removes his arm and sticks it behind his back where the mean werewolf can't bite it off.

Derek shrugs. "Sure." And then just to be contrary he shoves Stiles into the tree again, growls out warningly and stalks off.

He starts off towards the Camaro parked in all kinds of illegal ways near the entry wall and Stiles stares after him and feels well-

That maybe, just maybe Derek will be fine after all. 

Because whatever happened in the past to make Derek this way, with the tense shoulders and hyper-vigilant drive and the haunted eyes, well he now has Scott and his betas and Stiles too, to help him out of that phase. Stiles will snuff out all signs of insurrection with carefully timed series rerun marathons, and visits to comic-cons and flat out denial of Derek's right to the remote of the TV he is soon going to be receiving a steep bill-of-purchase for. Oh yesssss. This will be the heights of awesomenesssss.

He will kill Derek to death with this. He should totally have seem this coming. Never ever underestimate the dogged persistence of a Stilinski. Haha, get it? Dogged. He is so cracking himself up here.

Stiles tries to imagine a sunny Derek smiling at everyone and skipping around a meadow dotted with sunflowers and fails miserably. That... won't happening anytime soon. Also, he has to scrub his brain with a special sort of bleach to get rid of those images which should never ever be thought of again ever. However, he can hope for a lessening of that apocalyptic frown though right? "Well," he muses to himself, "he wouldn't really be himself without those big furry caterpillars of death and destruction on his face."

And he might or might not fondly imagine the little critters crawling together on Derek's forehead, there to stay, screw what the super-powered mutants had to say about it.

"I heard that, Stiles!"

He totally does not jump, squeak and run like a bat out of hell for Scott to protect him from the big bad wolf probably heading his way with the intent to chew him up and spit him out like yesterday's entrails.

_And then little Red got caught by the Big Wolf who proceeded to thoroughly head-lock the shit out of little Red before leaving them more or less alive with a dire warning to come watch the Dark Knight Rises at old Granny's burned out shell of a home late that windy evening OR ELSE._

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> This was merely to entertain myself. Why do I have to do everything but work? Ignoring project deadlines has now become my specialty. I'm gonna go crouch in a corner somewhere with a shotglass and tequila and cry my sorrows to bed.
> 
> I can totally write an entire two thousand words dedicated to eyebrows but not a single one word on why Oppenheim was so totally wrong and biased and seriously positivism is so old news, dude, get with the times. Oh the sad truth of my life.
> 
> Also, Saucery has no idea who I am or what I am (just kidding, 100 percent human) but anyway, reading their fics is what got me into writing Teen Wolf in the first place so.... yeah. It's for Saucery. A big-ass thank you fic.
> 
> Comments are my sugar. Kudos are like spiced cinnamon frosting. Yum.


End file.
